up and down a disorderly table, further
littered with newspapers, letter backs, county court summonses, mustard
pots, anchovies, pickles--all the odds and ends of a most miscellaneous
meal. The side-table exhibited cold joints, game, poultry, lukewarm hashed
venison, and sundry lamp-lit dishes of savoury grills.

'Here you are!' exclaimed Sir Harry, taking his hunting-whip and sweeping
the contents of one end of the table on to the floor with a crash that
brought in the butler and some theatrical-looking servants.

'Take those filthy things away! (hiccup),' exclaimed Sir Harry, crushing
the broken china smaller under his heels; 'and (hiccup) bring some
red-herrings and soda-water. What the deuce does the (hiccup) cook mean by
not (hiccuping) things as he ought? Now,' said he, addressing Mr. Sponge,
and raking the plates and dishes up to him with the handle of his whip,
just as a gaming-table keeper rakes up the stakes, 'now,' said he, 'make
your (hiccup) game. There'll be some hot (hiccup) in directly.' He meant to
say 'tea,' but the word failed him.

Mr. Sponge fell to with avidity. He was always ready to eat, and attacked
first one thing and then another, as though he had not had any breakfast at
Puddingpote Bower.

Sir Harry remained mute for some minutes, sitting cross-legged and
backwards in his chair, with his throbbing temples resting upon the back,
wondering where it was that he had met Mr. Sponge. He looked different
without his hat; and, though he saw it was no one he knew particularly, he
could not help thinking he had seen him before.

Indeed, he thought it was clear, from Mr. Sponge's manner, that they had
met, and he was just going to ask him whether it was at Offley's or the
Coal Hole, when a sudden move outside attracted his attention. It was the
hounds.

The huntsman's horse having at length returned from the fiddler hunt, and
being whisped over, and made tolerably decent, Mr. Watchorn, having
exchanged the postilion saddle in which it had been ridden for a horn-cased
hunting one, had mounted, and, opening the kennel-door, had liberated the
pent-up pack, who came tearing out full cry and spread themselves over the
country, regardless alike of the twang, twang, twang of the horn and the
furious onslaught of a couple of stable lads in scarlet and caps, who, true
to the title of 'whippers-in,' let drive at all they could get within reach
of. The hounds had not been out, even to exercise, since the Sn